The Comeback (19 page)

No one, he realized, as he sped over the line to claim his first ever win in the series.

In Victory Lane, he hauled himself out of his car, hugged his father and grandfather, winced under Brady’s hearty slap on the back, gave the obligatory interviews and smiles for the cameras. Everything passed in such a blur that he couldn’t take it all in. Finally, they headed for the motor home.

“That was better than the race I won at Nashville,” his grandfather said, a gleam of reminiscence in his eyes.

“This is it, son,” his father said. “You’re on your way.”

Ryan felt oddly lighthearted. “I’m on my way,” he agreed. “I’m on
my
way,” he amended, knowing the change of emphasis was lost on his seniors.

He wasn’t going anywhere without Amber.

“Dad, Grandpa, I know you guys are excited and you want to celebrate,” he said, “but can I meet you back in the motor home in a half hour? There’s something I need to do.”

He left the older men and headed for Brady’s motor home. He wasn’t sure Amber would have watched the race, but when she opened the door to him, she said a cool, “Congratulations.”

“You need to come with me,” he said, so seriously that she blanched.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Kind of, it concerns your mom,” Ryan said. Because there
was
something wrong with Julie-Anne—she had a crappy re
lationship with her daughter. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d get Amber out the door if he told her what he really wanted.

When they arrived at his parents’ motor home, she balked. “What’s this about?”

“There’s someone waiting to talk to you in here. About your mom…and other things.”

The look she gave him was deeply suspicious, but she followed him inside.

She’d met his mother before; the two women exchanged greetings. Then Ryan introduced Amber to his dad, Jeff, and grandfather.

“Dad, Grandad,” Ryan said, “I want you to tell Amber about her father.”

Amber stiffened. “What is this?”

Ryan grabbed her hand. “Before you go accusing me, or anyone else, of being like Billy Blake, I want you to know how he fit in around here, what other people thought of him.”

Amber tried to pull away, but he held on to her. “Please, Amber,” he said. “Do it for us.”

Her eyes widened, but she said, “You still trying to get me into bed?”

He might have known she wouldn’t hold back just because his family was there. His mom gave a shocked gasp. Ryan felt himself color, but he held her gaze. “I’m trying to get you into my life.”

Heck, that wasn’t a fraction of what he needed to say to her, but the rest was private. He just needed to keep her here long enough so he got the chance to say it.

Some of the tension left her fingers. She gave a jerky nod. Ryan steered her to the couch and sat next to her. He still held her hand, in case she got any ideas about running away again.

“Billy Blake,” his grandfather said, “was the meanest man I ever met.”

Amber started, but Granddad continued, “You might not want to hear this, little lady, but I tell it like I see it.”

“That’s fine,” she said.

“He had a way with the ladies,” Granddad said. “He made the most of it.”

“He wasn’t a bad driver,” Jeff said.

“When he didn’t have a hangover or a grudge,” Granddad conceded. “But there’s a hell of a lot more to making it as a NASCAR driver than how well you put the car around the oval. Attitude,” he said sagely. “And Billy Blake was one big bundle of bad attitude.”

A
MBER KNEW THAT
. B
UT
hearing it from someone on the inside of the sport was a new experience.

“You know your dad got fired shortly before the accident?” Jeff asked.

Amber nodded.

“We drivers were surprised it had taken so long. We all knew Billy Blake would never make it in NASCAR. It was just a matter of how soon his flashy veneer would fall apart in front of the wrong person.”

“When you heard him kissing up to a team owner you had to smile,” Ryan’s grandpa said. “It was a polished performance, all right.”

“My mom…” she began, not sure what she wanted to say.

“Your mother was the main reason anyone spoke to Billy at all,” Granddad said. “She was a brave little thing. She had to know Billy was cheating on her—he didn’t bother to hide his flings from anyone except his boss—but she’d show up every weekend, you in tow.”

“A good woman, that Julie-Anne,” Jeff agreed. “Always a kind word, always ready to help out.”

“She did everything she could to help your dad,” Grandpa said. “And the rest of us did what we could. But some folk are beyond helping.”

“Someone helped him by bringing him whisky,” Amber said.

“So-called friends,” Jeff said dismissively. “Your daddy had a bunch of hangers-on who were never going to get any
closer to anyone famous. Giving him booze was their passport to his fame.” He shook his head. “I tried talking sense to one of them myself once, told him to cut it out. He couldn’t see what the problem was.”

“After the accident—” Amber’s voice sounded rusty “—Mom sent me away. She stayed with him.”

She couldn’t believe she’d said that, to a room full of near strangers. Then Ryan laced his fingers through hers. For a guy who wanted nothing more than a casual fling, he sure was making an effort. Amber squeezed back and felt the simultaneous clenching of her stomach muscles.

“Just about killed her, that did,” Granddad said.

Amber stared. “What makes you say that?”

“She had this edge to her,” Jeff said. “Like she was on the brink. No one expected her to stick with Billy very long. But then he had the accident. Then he got the cancer. Damn shame, if you ask me, that he lasted longer than the few months the doctors said.”

He leaned back against the wall. “Julie-Anne was heartbroken.” He nodded to Amber. “We all knew it was about you being gone, not about your dad’s illness.” He sighed. “That’s it, really. The whole thing was a damn shame.”

It was more than that,
Amber wanted to say.
It was the end of my childhood.
Yet how much worse must it have been for her mom? Tears threatened.

“When I think about what NASCAR means to our family,” Jeff said, “I would say your mom felt like that about our sport, but your dad didn’t. Doesn’t make much sense, I know, given he was the driver. But for him, racing NASCAR was a means to an end. Fame and fortune.”

“Whereas for us, it’s about passion,” Granddad said.

Amber could see that. These men were like Brady, like her stepbrothers.

“Dad, Grandad,” Ryan said, “you’ve been great.” The dismissal in his voice was unmistakable.

“He wins one race and he thinks he can order us around,” his father joked. But he stood up anyway.

“Actually,” Ryan said, “I wasn’t asking you to leave, just changing the subject.”

His father sat down again.

“What you just said, about what NASCAR means to our family,” Ryan began. “I couldn’t have put it better.”

“Thanks, son.”

“I realized recently that I’ve lost sight of that,” Ryan said. “When I first started in NASCAR, every race was a high. The days in between races were truly frustrating.”

His grandfather chuckled.

“But I lost that,” Ryan said. “Somewhere along the way, I let go of my dream and started living yours, and I haven’t enjoyed myself since.”

It was as if he’d switched to Swahili—the two faces opposite him blanked. Amber held her breath.

“I want to race NASCAR, make no mistake,” Ryan reassured his dad and grandfather. “But I need to do it for me. I’ll always need your support, I’ll always get a kick out of your racing stories—the first time I hear them, at least.” He grinned, removing the sting. “But what I want is to race for me.”

Amber stared. Had Ryan come to these conclusions because of what she’d said? Had he taken the words she’d uttered in anger, and considered the underlying truth? Every time she thought he was a shallow jerk, he displayed a level of insight that floored her.

His father removed his spectacles, began to polish them. He said slowly, “You have to be your own man, Ryan. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

It was a big concession, Amber knew. One that showed Jeff truly loved his son.

It seemed Ryan was intent on pushing that love to its limits. He drew a breath and said, “Thanks, Dad, I appreciate that.
But I have to tell you, it seems…it seems there’s something I want more than I want to race NASCAR.”

Identical expressions of dismay stole over his father’s and grandfather’s faces, replacing their cautious relief.

Ryan took Amber’s hands in his, looked deep into her eyes.

Me? He wants me?
Her heart leapt.

“If Amber doesn’t want me to race NASCAR—if, because of her father, she has difficulties with that,” Ryan said, scarcely glancing at his audience, “then I’ll figure out something else to do.”

Ryan would give up his NASCAR dream? She shook her head; he nodded, his mouth widening into the cocky grin she loved. Loved? Oh, yes, she was falling for this man like it was going out of fashion.

He hadn’t said he loved her—he probably thought she’d say it was too soon. But he’d made more of a commitment to her in that one sentence than anyone else had, ever.

Except, maybe, her mom. In her heart, Amber knew Julie-Anne had never stopped loving her, missing her. That she’d been in a situation where doing the right thing was torture, and so would have been doing the wrong thing.

She noticed Ryan’s parents and grandfather were slipping out the door. The silence that fell was heavy with anticipation.

“You meant that,” Amber said, “about giving up racing.”

Ryan sighed. “Yep. I know it’s crazy—you’re the biggest pain in the butt I ever failed to date.”

She laughed.

“But I need you,” he said. “With you around, stuff matters.”

“Stuff?”

“It’s hard to explain,” he said, endearingly sheepish. “Can you just accept that I know what I want, and it starts and ends with you?”

“Yeah, I guess I can.” Amber leaned forward and kissed him. She meant it to be just a swift kiss, but it turned into something sweet and tender, then hotly passionate.

His hands roamed over her, seeking a familiarity, an intimacy, that would bind them.
Yes,
Amber thought. She’d never felt like this before.

“So,” she gasped, “we’re alone, you must have a bed…”

“No way,” Ryan said.

She pulled back, met his rueful gaze.
“No?”

“If I make love to you now, you’ll figure out some way to turn it into me being a jerk who only ever wanted a roll in the hay.”

“I won’t.” She thought about it, about the insecurities that might have been dealt a mortal blow today, but which weren’t dead yet. “I guess I might.”

He squeezed her behind. “A risk I’m not prepared to take, sweetheart. We won’t make love until you’re certain this is forever. Which I suspect will probably require a walk down the aisle.”

Her heart swelled and she wanted to laugh. Instead, she forced a scowl. “You’re so young,” she said cuttingly.

He laughed for her. “You’re so mine.” He kissed her again.

“If we don’t get to make love,” she grumbled, “I suppose I might as well go talk to my mom.”

He kissed her again. “Shall I come with you?”

How she loved him for offering! “Thanks, but there’ll probably be crying.”

He shuddered. “I would come, you know.”

“I know.” She kissed him, reveling in the tender emotion, the openness of his feelings for her. “But I need to do this on my own. Then I’ll be all yours.”

G
ABY COULD BARELY KEEP
her eyes open, despite the noise and the stimulation of being in the pits at Richmond on race day. She’d spent Friday afternoon, most of Friday night, then all day today crunching the numbers on Zack’s sponsorship. On every measure, she’d proven that Getaway Resorts got its money’s worth—
more
than its money’s worth—from Zack.

Was it enough to convince Getaway they hadn’t suffered
from Zack’s ducking out of the bachelor events? Enough to keep Zack’s sponsorship intact so he could finish the season that was so important to him? And maybe, just maybe, keep her own job?

Gaby blinked against a haze of exhaustion as she passed Trent’s pits. Trent had qualified fifth. She could see Zack’s pits, and the electric blue war wagon, up ahead.

Uh-oh, there was Sandra. Gaby slowed, despite the fact she was looking for her boss. She hadn’t talked to Sandra since that meeting yesterday morning. She’d ignored Sandra’s calls. Gaby didn’t know of anyone who’d done that and lived to tell the tale. She swallowed, wiped her hands against her caramel-colored pants, then clutched her satchel closer.

Two Getaway guys stood next to Sandra, increasing Gaby’s trepidation. And next to them, Chad. Who knew how he felt about her at the moment?

One way to find out. Gaby found pinning on a smile wasn’t as difficult as she’d thought it would be. She’d done the right thing, and she had good news. They just had to listen.

Chad saw her first, and a big smile broke out, the kind he normally only wore for Brianna. “Gaby, we were just talking about you.”

“Hi, Gaby.” Sandra sounded thoughtful rather than vengeful.

“I’m glad I found you all here.” Sandra didn’t look as if she was about to fire her, but that could be her “company” face. For Zack’s sake, Gaby needed to make her point fast. She flipped open her satchel and pulled out her presentation folder. “I’ve been looking into the return on investment Getaway gets from the money it spends on Zack,” she began. “You need to see this.”

Over the next ten minutes, awkwardly juggling the folder as she flipped pages and pointed at vital facts, she explained the weighting she’d given to different media impressions, the equation she’d used to attach a value to those impressions, the calculations she’d made. She employed every persuasive
power at her disposal, fielded questions with aplomb. All the time, she was aware of Sandra’s silence, and Rob Hudson’s poker face.

At last, she concluded, “Whatever Zack does out on the track—win, lose or crash—you get a return that would be the envy of many marketers. When he wins, you maximize that investment fivefold. Letting Zack focus on his racing at the expense of the bachelor contest costs you nothing, and potentially increases your return to astronomic levels—even if he doesn’t make the Chase.”

She stopped, and the cumulative effect of sleep deprivation and emotional stress caught up with her. She almost swayed, locked her knees to stay upright. Then she realized Sandra was clapping.

“Excllent work, Gaby,” her boss said warmly. “I’ve never seen such a thorough analysis—and I thought I was a numbers freak.” Everyone else laughed; the best Gaby could muster was a dazed smile.

“Very interesting,” Rob Hudson admitted. “I’m not going to rush into agreeing with you, but you’ve certainly given us a lot to think about.”

It wasn’t a wholesale endorsement, but it was progress.

“Come on, Rob,” Sandra said with the brusque assertiveness her clients loved. “This stuff is pure gold.”

He laughed. “I’m considering it, Sandra.”

“I should think so,” Sandra scolded. “Gaby’s work is phenomenal.”

Gaby felt strangely light-headed, to the point where she didn’t care either way what they thought of her work. She’d done her best for Zack. The rest was up to him.

“Where is he?” she asked Chad.

He knew who she meant. “Over the wall—they’re just about to start the national anthem.” Gaby became aware of a brass band playing in the background. Chad put an arm around her shoulder, a very un-Chad-like gesture. “I was just
telling Sandra how Zack’s had a busy couple of days with the bachelor contest events.”

Gaby froze. “What?”

Chad chuckled. “Zack went to the bachelor party last night, then had an interview with Olivia Winton this morning.”

“But I canceled—”

“And I reinstated the interview, at Zack’s request.”

Gaby’s mind raced. Why had Zack gone to the contest events, when he’d been so adamant he wouldn’t?

There was only one possible explanation. He’d done it for her. Because it was important to her. Of course, by then she’d already been acting on the conclusion she’d reached with Trent and Kelly, that she was sick of her boss manipulating her, but he wouldn’t have known that.

Zack cared about her, more than she’d dreamed.

She wanted to leap over the pit wall and stick her head in the window of the No. 548 car, tell Zack she loved him. But even as she took a step in that direction, the grand marshal announced, “Gentlemen, start your engines.”

Later, she told herself as the cars circled the track, getting ready to race. She just had to hope that the outcome of the race—she had awful visions of Zack crashing early and destroying his hopes of making the Chase—wouldn’t change the way he felt.

Across the track, the green flag fell, and the air filled with the roar of forty-three cars, every single one of them hungry for victory.
Time to pray.